He's a Pirate
by Sendai
Summary: Sherlock is injured and in his frustration drives John away. John becomes a pirate for a day. Johnlock. Slash and probably crack.


**A/N**

Sherlock is hurt and drives John away in frustration. John becomes a pirate for a day? Johnlock. Slash. Probably crank. This is my first fanfic so I'm not sure about all the terms (like crank). Since this is my first fanfic, I hope to get some constructive criticism. Reviews are greatly to be desired. (Please, pretty please.) Also I change the POV a lot; please let me know if it is too confusing and how to improve it. Anyway, I had fun writing it; I hope you have fun reading it. :)

**He's A Pirate**

**Chapter 1 The Importance of not Being Useless**

The boredom very nearly brought me to tears. (Dear God, I'm starting to think like Sherlock.) I felt that Sherlock had arranged this lecture as a punishment for me since I had refused to go with him on a case this morning.

I remembered earlier this morning; Sherlock had been on fire, "But John, this is a level 8.5 or 9. The case concerns thieves who have taken jewelry, fine art and rare coins for years. Somehow they smuggle it out of Britain, and the stolen goods end up at auctions in Europe. Now Lestrade has a clue, t. Two mutilated bodies, killed three days apart. One of them had a coin linked to a recent robbery from a museum. He's sure that it's connected to the smugglers."

Sherlock was practically rabid in his agitation. There had been no cases for three weeks. I understood. Really, I did. We were both bored and increasingly stressed as Sherlock's mind "melted down " due to terminal boredom. At least I have my classes to break the monotony (However, given today's lecture, classes are a negative) and I had my part-time work in forensics at the Yard. (Wait, that usually means working with Anderson, another negative.)

Using my most reasonable voice, I told him, "Sherlock, just go and start without me, I'll be there in three or four hours. You can check the bodies and review the evidence with Lestrade" I then put my hands on his shoulders. "Sherlock, I only have a couple of weeks before I graduate. Mostly I have to work on my dissertation but today I'm expected to go to their bloody lecture. Go, collect data and just wait for me. Just this one time, please wait for me. Don't do anything dangerous. Don't go after them on your own. In just a few hours I will be at your disposal."

The world's only resurrected and consulting detective, brushed my hands away angrily. "If I die, it will be on your head John," said the worlds oldest and tallest pre-schooler. Then he flounced out of the flat in full pout. I received no other farewell. , From the window, I watched him fly out the front door, his coat billowing behind him like a cape. (Right, Mycroft said that Sherlock wanted to be a pirate. Well today, he looks like a pirate.)

Now, I was watching the presenter magically hypnotize a room full of formerly vibrant people into zombies. I stifled a yawn as I glanced at the clock, 12:10. Running late again. Sherlock will never wait for me.

My mobile phone vibrated with an incoming message.

**Come to St Bart's A and E at once. Sherlock shot. GL**

I stepped on several people as I ran out of the hall and stole a taxi from a little old lady. I was ruthless in my terror. (Sherlock shot. No. Please God don't let him die. Not again. I can't do this again. I can't breathe.) I don't remember the taxi ride; I only remember having trying to breathe and trying not to scream. I only remember praying for another miracle.

I think I gave money to the cabbie and I tore into the hospital crashing through the doors of the A and E. I swear I knocked down another little old lady. Police were in the hall and a familiar voice was tearing someone apart with a scathing deduction. I entered Sherlock's room to see his arm covered in a dressing. He had some bruising on his left cheek, and more bruising on his chest. The x-rays hanging on the wall showed no broken ribs. Thank god. Still he was hooked up to IV's and he was receiving a transfusion.

Sherlock turned to glare at me. His blue eyes were glacial ice as he squinted in anger at me. Lestrade looked relieved to see me. "John, I'm glad you're here. Sherlock found the London base for the smugglers. Sherlock examined traces of dirt from the fingernails of the second victim and found that the dirt must have come from an abandoned and partly burnt warehouse near the Thames. He went there on his own and surprised the smugglers. He fought them off, but they shot him once in the arm. He lost a lot of blood, but the doctor says he'll be alright…"

"Enough! John doesn't care about my injuries or me. His "class work" is more important. Did you do finger painting today or make some little clay pots?" he was in rare form. I hid my hurt because poor Sherlock was probably in pain.

"You know that's not true Sherlock. Does it hurt much?" I said trying to take his hand.

Sherlock pulled his hand away. "Yes it hurts. It's a bullet wound. It's your fault that I got shot because you selfishly went to your worthless class. Why play at this stupid PhD in forensics when I can out deduce you with my eyes closed. No fake degree required."

I felt my face flush with embarrassment. Well, I already knew he was unhappy with my pursuit of a degree in forensic science (Never mind that I went for the degree to find some meaning to my life after he abandoned me to go on his Moriarty Quest. OK, now _I'm_ overreacting. Sherlock saved my life and destroyed Moriarty. He's a hero. He's pain and frustrated, and he's still my best friend.)

I ignored Lestrade and Mycroft and the doctor who all looked uncomfortable. (Hell I was pretty uncomfortable too.) "Right. You _can_ always out deduce me but that's no…"

"I can out deduce you and out think you. You serve no useful purpose at all. Because of you I got shot and stuck in Hospital." Sherlock snarled at me, "Because of you, the smugglers will escape from Cawsand. They will be at sea by morning. I thought I could rely on you but I was wrong."

"You are useless. Go away. Go back to your worthless University or your pretend job that everyone got for you because your feelings were hurt. Go and play detective while I solve real crimes," he finished. I heard someone behind me gasp. (Useless? I'm Useless. Right and I have a pretend job that I got because my feelings were hurt.) Sherlock restarted his attack, "Well, go! You are no partner of mine. While you're at it why don't you pack up your junk and go move in with one of your precious classmates. I'm sure I can replace you in a matter of days if not hours" (I'm useless. He can replace me.)

I was speechless with rage. I couldn't admit the hurt to myself just then. If I thought for a second that I was hurt by his tirade, I would break down and cry. A soldier does not cry, especially in front of others. I turned and marched out of the room. Mycroft tried to put his hand on my arm. I turned to look at him. I guess he didn't like what he saw in my eyes because he stepped back, sharply. I was distantly pleased to notice that his superior sneer fell off his face when I glared at him. I stormed through A and E. (Right. My life is over. I'll end it. I'll… Oh stop it Watson. I will not fall apart over that man again. I lived without my heart for three years, I can do it again. Watch the amazing feats of John Watson the Useless Man without a Heart. Watch as he pretends to be alive after his flat-mate stabs him in the heart.) I fumed as I pushed through the crowd toward the swinging A and E doors. (So it's all my fault. I lost the smugglers. It's all my fault. Fine. I'll get the smugglers and the proof.) I needed data. (Who has the data besides Sherlock Bloody Holmes.) Greg Lestrade was running up behind me. It was fate. It was my destiny.)

"John,"called Greg, "Wait. I'm sure he didn't mean it. You know none of what he said was true. He's hysterical because they are getting away. There is no evidence to connect them to any crime. I cannot get a warrant. Please just …"

I held my hand up imperiously, (Yes I am copying the big-headed dick, aka Sherlock.) "Don't. I do not care to hear another word about him . I'm not having that conversation. But I could use a favor Greg. May I please borrow your phone. I left mine at the Uni when I rushed over here to get insulted by my former flat mate."

"John, you don't mean that. Here, use my phone. I have about ten minutes of paper work to finish and we'll head back to the Yard together. Right mate?" Greg said hopefully.

(Ha! Does everyone think I'm stupid? Maybe they _all _think I'm useless and _helpless_. Right). I checked Greg's texts and found several from Sherlock detailing the clues leading up to the debacle at the warehouse. Over the course of the morning Sherlock had discovered that they had a yacht anchored at Cawsand in Cornwall. He was certain that this was their means of transporting the stolen goods and that this years departure was imminent. The yacht's name was Calypso owned by Archie Lyon, a rich playboy with an expensive drug habit. Sherlock had deduced that the smugglers included Archie since he could offer regular, safe transport. Apparently, Sherlock had surprised three men at the warehouse. After the brief scuffle, the men shot Sherlock and then the assailants made their escape. I don't know why they didn't finish Sherlock off. Maybe the angels really do watch out for madmen. So, the smugglers will have to go to the Calypso to escape the country. The yacht is also probably full of their ill-gotten booty. They won't want to abandon it.

My first flood of emotion had receded leaving a cold empty wasteland where my heart should have been. I left Greg's phone with the youngest looking constable that I could find, hoping that she would be uncertain about returning it to a Detective Inspector.

I hurried to the tube and headed towards Baker Street. Then got off to change trains. I dropped my phone on a train headed north while I headed to the East End wearing a newly purchased hoodie. I began making plans to break the law (actually several laws). I planned to capture the bloody smugglers and gather enough evidence to convict them. Let's see your new partner top that, Mr. Consulting Dick-tective.

**Chapter 2 Ambush**

I watched as my idiot brother verbally savaged his only real friend, the man I had thought Sherlock loved. John Watson's face set in stone when he exited the room. I saw hints of violence and death in his eyes and let him exit alone. Fortunately, the Detective Inspector hurried out after John. John had been a source of great concern during my brother's three-year absence; today I was again concerned for his safety. I texted Anthea at once.

**Locate John Watson, he is exiting St. Bart's Hospital. Re-start 24-hour protection/suicide watch. Try 221B. Try the Lion Pub. You know the routine. Incidentally, my brother will recover from his injuries. MH**

(Then again he may not if I give him the treatment he deserves.) I looked up to see Sergeant Donovan leave the room muttering, "I feel sick." She was holding her hand over her mouth.

Sherlock and I were silent for a few minutes; I looked down at my brother. He was still very pale, but his pain and injury did not justify his outburst. I had never seen him turn on John Watson like that. "Why?" I asked.

"Why, what? Don't be tedious Mycroft. The best case in a month and it's about to slip through my hands. I emailed and texted all the information to Lestrade and he won't move on it. The smugglers will be on their yacht and sailing away sometime tonight. And Lestrade just says 'We don't have a warrant.'" Sherlock pouted. However, I was not John Watson. I did not find Sherlock's pouts endearing.

"You just now destroyed the best and bravest man who you are likely to ever meet. And the only one who …" I said.

"Yes, yes, yes. Fine. But he _should_ have been with me. That is what a partner does. I will however apologize for being so harsh. Fetch John in here and I will tell him so." Sherlock said still looking annoyed but calmer now that he had taken out his frustration on his so-called best friend.

"I suspect John will have left the hospital Sherlock, since you demanded that he go. And after you publicly humiliated him, or should I say eviscerated him. For his sake, I have Anthea following him to 221B. I'll be outside your room if you have anything useful and civil to say." I went into the hall feeling thoroughly disgusted.

**Chapter 3 An Unexpected Party**

I was still smarting over Sherlock's insults.(Agonizing might be a better word.) I particularly resented being called useless and having a pretend job and needing help getting my job and... OK, I resented the entire thing. (As soon as I single-handedly capture the smugglers and get the evidence, I will move out of 221B. On top of my many other faults, I suffer from delusions of grandeur. Quick reality check, how can a useless ex-army doctor capture a ship of smugglers and loot. Second reality check, I have nowhere to move into afterwards. Harry's flat would be horrid if/when she's drinking. Maybe Raz's girlfriend won't mind me staying a couple of days.)

Once I reached the East End, I went to Raz's flat, trying to use alleys and back ways. (No doubt Mycroft will be trying to track me; after all if I move out of 221B then Mycroft will lose his precious baby sitter.) The first part of my plan involved my friend Raz, who owned an old wheelchair accessible van. I had to talk Raz into taking me to Cornwall and then help me make a plan to hijack the Calypso. Raz is a huge black man, an ex-marine, who lost the use of his legs. IED while stationed in Iraq. Damage to spinal cord at L4-L5. One of the strongest and bravest men I know.) We belonged the support group that I eventually started after Sherlock's fall. I laid out the reasons for my plan and the information that I had on the smugglers. At first, Raz was not impressed.

"Man you've lost it. I thought you lost it before, but this is ridiculous. And all to impress that sodding arrogant bastard that just put you down in front of everyone? Hell no." He said. He handed me a beer as a consolation prize. I took the beer hoping it would still the trembling in my hand.

"Raz. You served on ships. You have to help me figure this out. The whole problem seems to be that the police can't get a warrant. So I thought what if I beach the yacht. Once it's run aground, the first responders will have to search it. They will find contraband, apparently a lot of contraband according to those e-mails that Sherlock sent the police. But the police or coast guard need to get aboard legally. Hence the grounding of the Calypso..." I argued.

"You'll get yourself killed, John. And that's what you want isn't it." He asked.

I thought about that as I sipped my beer; I thought about it honestly. I was in pain. My heart was shattering again. (How many times can a heart-break, and keep on beating?) But no, I didn't want to die. After Sherlock's Fall, I had forged a new life. I still had my job at the yard, and I had my support group (I guess Sherlock would scorn all of us as physical and emotional cripples. Fine.) I suppose that if I survived after I thought Sherlock was dead, I could soldier on now without him, somehow. I finally answered Raz. "No, I don't want to get killed. But I want to do this. I need another fucking mission, Raz. I Need to show myself, what I can do."

Raz sighed and his dark eyes gazed out the window. "Hell I want another fucking mission too." He said softly. Then he added, "Yeah, and Frank will help us. He'll want to join us. " Raz's eyes began to glow, his dark face began to shine. "Yeah. I'm tired of everyone thinking we're all useless. They send us off to war and I get my back broken and Frank gets his arm cut off, you get your shoulder mangled and then PTSD on top of it. We all got our shiny little medals and our microscopic pensions and then it's thank you and goodbye."

"Yeah. They all think we're useless. Your so-called best friend calls you useless right to your face. Sod it all," growled Raz. The ex-marine was coming back on duty, wheel chair and all. "John, do you know if they anchored the boat close to the beach? 'Cause she'll drift in on her own if you cut the anchors when the tide is making."

"But won't they just motor back out into the sound when they find themselves drifting in?" I asked helping myself and Raz to another beer.

"Well this is the part you'll like, 'cause it's dangerous. Someone who is too stupid to avoid this precarious situation needs to either incapacitate the motor, or the propeller or the smugglers." Raz said frowning.

"Sounds good to me," I said with my widest fake smile. "I could use a gun, some C4 might be helpful too."

"Well I don't have a gun John, except a flare gun. But I'll bet you ten pounds Frank's got some explosives just lying around. You call Frank and then we'll load up the van. I got an old inflatable raft you and Frank can use to get out to the yacht. We'll pirate that ship right out from under their noses. Gimme five Johnny! We're on a mission." Raz yelled as he tore his garage apart looking for the flare gun, the raft and other necessary items. (_Pirate_. Raz said "_pirate". _ Oh yeah, pirates sound exciting. The adrenalin rush was starting.)(Who's useless now, Sherlock?)

Three hours later and we were over halfway to Cornwall. Raz was driving like a maniac. We had to cut the yacht from her anchors with the making tide and the tide was turning in three hours. (Time and tide wait for no man.) I waxed poetic with a few beers in me.

The plan was crystallizing. Frank and I would row out to the Calypso using Raz's old inflatable dingy. I would sneak on board with the flash bangs supplied by Frank (I don't know and I don't want to know where they came from.) I let go the anchors or cut the lines. With the making tide, the yacht should come ashore even without the motor. If not, I'll have to power up the motor and drive the Calypso onto the beach. In between I distract the crew so that they don't try to motor out to sea or abandon the ship when she founders. If I don't need the motor, I disable the engine. I was on my third beer and feeling pumped for the mission. I didn't even miss Sherlock Bloody Holmes.

OK, I missed him a bit. A lot. After all he was my best friend. Let's face it, I had fallen in love with my flat-mate and my heart was breaking so painfully today that sometimes I could hardly concentrate on the stupid mission. (Take another deep breath and keep the jokes coming. Never let anyone see the hurt.) I forced another smile and launched into the story of how I escaped from an angry father by riding a donkey into the desert.

**Chapter 4 Epic Failures**

Anthea texted me several hours later admitting defeat. I was nonplussed. John Watson defeated Anthea. (Unimaginable.) She had checked all his usual friends and relatives, all his usual pubs (and then all the other pubs in London). My operatives reviewed the CCTV recordings but lost John in the tubes. Sherlock had gone silent. At first I thought he was in his mind palace but when I looked in I realized that he was texting, over and over.

"Sherlock we've located John's phone. It was in on an empty seat on a train headed to Scotland," I said. "John has apparently decided that he doesn't want to be found, and John is as stubborn as you. That's how he survived the three long years after your so-called death. That's why I don't think he'll do anything rash…"

"Shut up Mycroft. I don't understand. He usually just laughs or yells back when we disagree. He knows I don't mean any of it. He knows how, how" the great Sherlock Holmes swallowed with difficulty "He knows how I feel."

"Well then maybe the problem is that you aren't considering how he feels and he knows it. What you said this afternoon was …"

"Unforgivable. Yes. I called my best friend useless. I belittled his degree and his job. How can I apologize if I can't find him?" Sherlock was truly adrift, his precious case apparently forgotten. "Mycroft, I told him to leave; and he left.." He curled his legs up to his chin on his rumpled bed, eyes wide as he pulled at his hair distractedly.

Lestrade came into the room, "Look I've had a couple of constables check my flat and even Sally's, even Anderson's. He's not there. We've checked the university, his office at the yard, and even the morgue." Sherlock sat up looking even paler. (He reminds me of when he was a tiny child and scared of the dark.) "No, sorry, not what you think. I checked the morgue because I thought maybe he went to see Molly or to work in the lab."

Sherlock got up out of bed. "I need to find John now. I need to find him before he gets hurt. And you are all failing epically. I will track him down now." Said Sherlock, removing the IV's. I had no doubt that John would be located before morning, hopefully he would be located intact.

**Chapter 5 Some Deductions**

I had analyzed my recent interactions with my flat mate (best friend, partner, John.) My irritation at John had driven me to move against the smugglers precipitously. That had resulted in my injury and their subsequent escape and the irreparable ruin of the case. (And I drove John away. I always knew he'd leave but this was mostly my fault, which is unacceptable.)

The question was why? Why was I so angry when John refused to come this morning? I had pictured him walking with his friends to the lecture. I had pictured the girls hanging on him, especially the tall 30 something divorcee with bleached hair and augmented breasts. (I've warned John about her. She will sink her claws in him and never let go.) I had visualized that tall, young redhead named Barry. He was muscular and liked to work out at the same gym that John goes to, (Same gym, same lectures, same study group. I do not believe in coincidences, he's after John and John will succumb to his handsome, virile admirer. John's "I'm not gay" refrain not withstanding.)

I ignored Mycroft and Lestrade, and retreated into my Mind Palace. (If I were analyzing someone else, Lestrade for example, how would I interpret such thoughts? If Lestrade was angry and worried that his colleague/friend/partner was out with others and might like the other people better, I would say that he was jealous. Of course I have trained myself not to feel emotions. Even if I felt such an emotion, I would suppress it. I would delete it, unless it involved John. I do not delete John… Oh. Oh, so I did feel jealousy and I did not suppress it or delete it because it was John-releted. My anger at myself for losing the case fueled my response. I attacked him after he came to me because I was angry and jealous. John has so many strong feelings and now I have damaged them. John has PTSD and has not fully recovered from his depression from my apparent suicide, which makes John even more vulnerable. I am stupid. Stupid.) I was done thinking. Relying on Mycroft and Lestrade had wasted time. I would find John and somehow fix everything. (I must fix everything, I cannot lose John.)

I got out of bed and removed the IV's. I tore off the ridiculous excuse of a gown and began to dress, Lestrade turned quickly away. (Idiot. Who cares what my body looks like?)

"Lestrade? No, Greg, you were the last person to talk to John. What did you talk about?" I asked.

"Nothing," Lestrade (Greg) said as he messed his hair up again (Hair rumpling is a Clear sign of extreme Lestrade/Greg frustration. Shirt shows coffee stain and powdered sugar. He skipped lunch in favor of a donut and coffee. Clothes wrinkled. Still living alone has not reconciled with his wife or that girlfriend that John didn't like. Eye's wide, making eye contact. So not lying). "Honestly Sherlock, I want to find John too you know. We didn't talk about anything. He didn't want to talk about your spat or whatever you want to call it. He just borrowed my phone and then gave it back to one of the PC's in the waiting area."

Mycroft and I exchanged a glance. (John wanted Greg's phone? He still had his own mobile at that point. So John wanted information from Greg's phone. He wanted my texts to Greg.)

"John is going to attempt to find the smugglers on his own." I announced. "He now knows that their yacht, the Calypso, is currently anchored at Cawsand.? But how will he get there? Train? Taxi? No the taxi is too expensive for John. So train it is. That will delay him. If we hurry, we can arrive at Cawsand before John." I left the room and had to call back. "Mycroft, Greg we need to hurry, a man's life is at stake." (John's life is at stake. Hopefully the transportation issue will delay him by several hours. John must not be hurt. Or worse.) I tried to delete the 'or worse scenarios', naturally I was not able to since they involved John. I ran out of the building with my brother and the detective inspector on my heels. They were both shouting orders at underlings. At least Mycroft had a car waiting. I got in but had to wait 1 minute and 35 seconds for Mycroft and then an additional 2 minutes for Greg. Finally we were underway.

I deduced that we would arrive at Cawsand ahead of or at the same time as John. I also deduced that John would be alone, dispirited and without the resources to even get out to the Calypso. Unfortunately these deductions were not reassuring since I have not always been able to predict John's actions very well. At least I knew that John would be alone and with very little money. Still, who could predict what trouble John might get up to between London and Cawsand; it boggled even my imagination.

**Chapter 6 Like Johnny Depp**

We stopped for petrol and more supplies and a bathroom run. Frank got back in with some sodas, beer, crisps and sandwiches. He also handed me a bag that held nitrile gloves (No, I will not leave any finger prints. Ha, guess I'm not as useless as I look,) a scarf (Ha ha, ha, I'll cover my face so I can't be ID'd later. Ha! Who's useless now!) a pirate hat. (Wait, what?). I looked at Frank nonplussed.

"You are the Pirate Captain Jack and here is your bandana to hide your hair. Here's a sash. The hat and eye-makeup are disguises and great for giggles." Frank said chuckling as he emptied the other bag.

I glared at him, and he and Raz began to laugh. "This is serious you two. These guys are dangerous smugglers. They have stolen millions of pounds of goods and they have killed twice this week. They must be running scared and that makes them even more dangerous. They tried to kill Sherlock…"

"Yeah, well don't worry. Just because they failed doesn't mean I will. I'll get that stupid sod…" Raz growled.

"Oh shut up. I don't want him hurt. Look, I can't help how I feel. But…" I held up my hand. "But I am not going back. I am not a doormat. I mean it. I may never go back." I was screaming on the inside as I made this promise. (I always keep my promises, even to myself. Oh God, no more Sherlock?) Luckily I crossed my fingers just in time. Just saying. "Look if he wants to be a colleague fine, I can work with him once in a while. If he wants anything more he has to change just a little. I'm not asking for a big change but a little anger management and self-control would be fine. He had no right to attack me and I won't put up with it." The other two nodded. ( No more Sherlock? No can do. I'd just as soon give up breathing.) I kept those thoughts to myself.

Frank put the pirate hat on my head. We ate our sandwiches and crisps. OK, I only ate half a sandwich but at least I tried. I drank my beer so that I wouldn't get dehydrated; it seemed like a good excuse at the time. I sat wearing my pirate hat and playing with a plastic sword. (Every pirate needs a sword. And rum.) "Where's the rum. I'm Captain Jack and I need rum." I demanded trying to sound like a pirate.

"You've had enough to drink with the beer, mate. You won't have cat-like reflexes if you keep on drinking." Said Raz, the killjoy. He is not a pirate.

Frank decided we needed Pirate music. We stopped to get an MP3 player and downloaded the soundtrack of the Pirates of the Carribean. The music made the plan very exciting. (The beer helped a lot too.) I decided to improve the Excellent Pirate Caper; the music would be played on board the Calypso. It would encourage Captain Jack (me) and confuse the hell out of the smugglers. (At least that's the plan.) So we stopped again to get a speaker for our new MP3. (Thank God Raz and Frank have good credit, unlike yours truly .) I bought a burgundy shirt that Frank said was swashbuckling. A leather satchel completed the outfit. The sales associate muttered poofter, which I found very entertaining. So I winked at him and smiled. The three of us couldn't stop laughing. (I was on my fourth or fifth beer and three sheets to the wind. Ha, another nautical phrase. The Great Pirate Adventure Caper was about to begin.)

At 19:00 hours we were at the cove, the Calypso rode at double anchor not far out into the sound. Frank and I inflated the dingy and launched it into the surf, which soaked me. I hoped the night would remain relatively warm because the water was pretty damn cold. I breathed in the salt-laden air. There was a stiff onshore breeze. Raz had assured me before I left that the wind would help bring the Calypso in quickly. I just wished the breeze wasn't making me freeze.

The early stars and a full moon were partially hidden by the wind-chased clouds. The white yacht bobbed gently in the tide. Raz said it was a sloop and its sleek lines promised speed. A single mast held furled sails. If there really were only three men on board, my Pirate Caper might succeed. I assumed that they were all competent sailors so my only chance was to distract and disable them before they could get the sloop away from shore.

It took forever to row out to the yacht. We were fighting the incoming high tide. I needed to be on the yacht ten minutes ago . I rowed as if my life depended on it. (Maybe it does if I wanted to salvage my self-respect, which really is as important as my life. Which is why I am dressed as a pirate, a possibly gay pirate if the sales clerk was correct. Ah well…). I found myself smiling even as I strained at the oars.

"Look John," said Frank who steered the raft as I struggled with the oars against the tide and wind. "Look, you be careful. If you get hurt or anything, I will go after that stupid detective of yours…"

"No, you will not. Just leave him be. He isn't like everyone else, and it's my problem anyway. If I'm your friend then you have to promise not to hurt Sherlock. A Pirate's Promise. If you fail your promise, the curse of the Pirates of Cawsand will haunt you. So There." I stopped rowing and gave him my most fierce pirate glare. "Now promise."

"Shite. You take the fun out of everything. Fine I promise not to hurt your bloody boyfriend. But I sure as hell will have something to say to him when I get to meet him."

"He's not my boyfriend, mores the pity," I muttered between breaths.

I stopped to readjust my sash and sword. I had tied a red sash around my waist to add to the pirate effect. It also held the sword and more importantly the knife and flare gun. The satchel held the stun grenades and the MP3 player. My eye makeup was appalling but I called it camouflage. I had agreed to a fake mustache and Frank assured me I looked like Johnny Depp. I had my doubts. I kept rowing, my muscles straining. My left shoulder was on fire. (I'll be all but crippled on that side all week. Just don't freeze up on me tonight.)

Frank and I attached our explosives package to the prop. (Why did Frank have semtex? Don't know, apparently everyone has semtex, just in case.) It was show time. I believe I wore an idiotic grin; certainly Frank wore an evil smile. I climbed the port side anchor line as Frank drifted silently back to shore.

**Chapter 7 A Very Short Chapter**

I had arranged helicopter transport for Sherlock, Gregory, Anthea and myself. There was room for three of Gregory's team as well. We were in Cornwell just after sunset. Two cars were waiting for us. Greg's team took the second car, and I found myself beside my increasingly frantic brother as Gregory climbed in next to me. (At least the Detective Inspector has a good head on his shoulders. Actually a very handsome head and very nice shoulders.) The detective Inspector had mobilized the local constabulary. They were searching for Dr John Watson at the bus and train stops; and they had set up roadblocks for taxis and leased cars. They were also blocking the beach across from the Calypso. John would be found, and I was confident that he would not be found on the Calypso.

Sherlock looked as if he would spontaneously combust soon. His eyes were wide and his hair was in complete disarray. He was of course pale and he drummed his fingers on his knee incessantly. I attempted to reassure him. "I feel certain that we have arrived ahead of John. Even if he is in Cornwall, he will not have the resources to approach the Calypso, let alone apprehend the smugglers."

"John would not come all this way without a plan. I simply do not have enough data to determine what that plan is. John is very resourceful and determined. I have learned not to underestimate him. I suggest you learn this as well." Sherlock said with finality. I turned to engage Gregory in a more pleasant conversation.

**Chapter 8 Fortune Favors the Foolish**

I was suspended from the port side anchor line waiting for the men on deck to finish their cigarettes. From the sounds of it, there were four or five pirates, (no I mean smugglers), on board. I had hung from the bloody line for what seemed like an hour when the last pirate, (smuggler), threw his butt overboard and it naturally landed in my new pirate hat. Another reason to want to take out the pirates/smugglers. (Aside from the fact that they were criminals and murderers and aside from the little matter of them hurting Sherlock. OK I admit I'm pissed off at the madman. And I guess I'm pretty damned hurt too. And no I don't want to run back to him with my tail between my legs. Those 'pet' references still rankle._ But_, No One, I mean No One, hurts Sherlock without suffering the consequences.)

Right. I'm hanging off the side of a smugglers yacht and stewing over my relationship problems. (Concentrate! Remember "_It's show time"?)_ I heard no one on deck, so I peered over the side. Seeing no one I clambered over railings of the yacht and then cut the anchor line. I slipped over to starboard to severe that line as well. The Calypso was adrift. I looked more closely at the beach, it was filling with cars. They all had their lights off, stealth mode. The bloody coppers! The pirates will see the small army gathering and try to get out to sea. Or worse, they'll fight and one of the bloody coppers will get hurt. I heard a small outboard nearing. (Damn Sherlock! Does he want the smugglers captured or not). The yacht began to roll as we drifted into shore. Well, time to distract the hell out of the pirate-smugglers. I shimmied up the mast. I attached the portable speaker to the mast.

The rolling must have alarmed the smugglers. They were shoving their way out of the cabin. I could see an inflatable dingy approaching. Two figures inside. (Damn! Frank for sure. And undoubtably Sherlock. Bloody hell. I need to distract the pirate-smugglers form the police and the dinghy.) I hit the play button. Thanks to wireless technology, the soundtrack from Pirates of the Caribbean blasted over the doomed vessel. The four pirate-smugglers were staring at the mast and pointing. I was on top of the cabin housing, apparently still unseen. Then the tall black skinned man, backed towards me as he scanned the beach. I threw my bag over his head, hit him with a wrench and handcuffed him. (Surgical gloves allow for a great deal of dexterity yet do leave not fingerprints. Ha!)

The other three gentlemen seemed shocked to see me. "I am Captain Jack the pirate and your ship is forfeit!" I announced loudly. I raised my toy sword. The fat bald one pulled out a gun and fired. I dove off behind the housing as I shouted, "Scurvy dogs! Have you no sense of fair play. We are pirates, and it is time to parlay!"

I heard distant shouting form the beach. My music, while inspiring me personally, was not loud enough to drown out the noise from land. The other pirates would be alerted to the activity on the beach.

"Captain Jack said it was time to parlay you useless lubbers. It's the Pirate Code," I yelled a bit desperately. I closed my eyes tightly and threw Frank's flash bang, temporarily blinding the trio. I stumbled forward as the boat was rolling heavily in the surf. The skinny scurvy dog got my wrench upside his scurvy head. Then I hand cuffed him too in between floundering on the slippery, heaving deck. I grabbed the scurvy dog's gun and shoved it in my sash. (Sash, way cool and practical too. Will have to tell Sherlock. If I'm still on speaking terms with him. Shite, I'm getting distracted, again.)

The fat man was behind me and he fired straight at me. I froze expecting the impact and the burning pain. But fortune favored the foolish; the yacht pitched to starboard, which saved my unworthy life. And yes, Raz had pounded the difference between port and starboard into my head over and over during five-hour drive to Cornwall.

I blundered awkardly towards the two men left standing or actually stumbling as the ship danced in the swells. The fat man tried to pistol-whip me but the gun barely glanced the side of my head. (But bloody hell, that hurt.) I tackled his legs, getting kicked in the chest for my trouble. (That hurt more.) I grappled with him as the other bastard fired off another round. I grabbed the fat man around his neck and put my knife against his throat and began backing toward the stern. I heard the outboard motor hard aport (Love these nautical terms.)

A chill ran down my spine when I felt the vibrations as the Calypso's engine turned over. (Now that's a bit no good. If they get the motor running, they can escape out to sea.) I pushed the fat man forward and slammed the knife hilt hard across his bald scalp. I screamed, "Fire in the hole," over the port side. Then dropped a flash bang on top of the prop. The stun grenade went off and was followed by the semtex. The second explosion threw me up toward the stern and I fell stunned, my ears ringing. Bits of wood, plastic and metal rained down on us. The bloody fall-out was hot.

**Chapter 9 Finding John**

When we arrived at the beach, the local constabulary was present in force. Their incident commander ran over to kiss up to Mycroft. "I'm sure we got here in time sir. There has been no activity."

"Wrong." I interrupted him. "There are men smoking on board smoking and an inflatable raft is approaching the beach" I sighed, these men were even stupider than those from the Met. (Where is John? John please give me another chance. You are irreplaceable, surely you know that.)

I ran down to the beached vessel. Some of the local PC's had grabbed the man from the raft and he was face down in the sand. "Says he's a Frank Byron from London. Says he was out fishing. Has some tackle but no fish. He's unarmed" Said one of the yokels.

"Poor choice of words, mates." Snarled the man in the sand. "The war left me with one good arm."

(Frank a disabled war veteran. Oh, one of the men from John's support group. John is already out on the boat. John is in extreme danger.) "Give me this man and the boat. I need to go out there." I demanded.

The idiots demurred. I pulled out John's Browning L9A1. "Get in the boat," I ordered this Frank. He grinned, sand covering his stubbled face.

"You get in the boat, posh boy." Ordered Frank, "I'll shove us off." We both dragged the raft into the water as I kept John's gun trained on the police. Frank pushed me in and kept pulling us out deeper. Lestrade and Mycroft and the local idiot commander ran up ordering the yokels to stand down. They also demanded that we return to shore (A waste of time, surely at least Mycroft knows better.)

I helped pull Frank into the boat. His one arm gripped my hand hard. (He may be even stronger than John.) He started up the engine and we headed toward the yacht.

"The yacht's adrift!" yelled someone. "One of them smugglers, is climbing up the mast"

"Bloody show time," muttered Frank. "And I'm pressed into taxi service."

"What's John's plan?" I yelled over the sound of the wind, waves and motor. The surf sprayed us with salt water and then I heard the sounds of orchestral music. (What is that music? Why is there music?) "Why is there music," I demanded.

"Like I said, it's show time. Pirates of the Caribbean, mate. And Captain Jack is now hijacking the Calypso to run it aground. Once aground, the Captain figures it will be legal salvage and no warrant needed. Savvy? He's on board to keep the crew distracted and to keep them from escaping. He took their attack on you personally, I guess. And then there was something about proving that he was useful to a certain Sherlock Bloody Holmes. ANything happens to Captain Jack and you'll be answering to me, curse or no curse." Frank shouted above the din.

(Curse? What Curse?) I stared at Frank then at the yacht. A man dressed as a pirate swooped down and knocked out a man on deck.(A pirate? A pirate wearing a tricorn hat?) The pirate stood holding on to the mast for support and single handedly challenged three more smugglers with a toy sword. (A toy sword against guns? John! No, no, no.) I started to stand involuntarily. Frank yanked me back to my seat. The raft rocked crazily. A shot was fired and the Pirate fell. (John! Oh God no. John!) But I heard John's voice clearly over the crazy music. John was yelling about scurvy dogs and a parlay. There was a flash of brilliant light and an explosion. I could make out figures locked in combat on the heaving deck. (John. John is in danger.)

"I need to get aboard now; I have to help John." I said as we neared the bigger boat, which was illuminated by moonlight.

"No you arrogant sod, his name is Captain Jack the Pirate. Get it right." Yelled Frank, his eyes gleaming maniacally under his dripping hair.

Suddenly I heard John yell, "Fire in the hole!"

Frank pushed us off away from the boat and gunned the motor to increase our distance. He tried to shove me down. There was another brilliant flash and explosion followed by an enormous explosion. Bits of shrapnel were flying everywhere. Our boat rocked wildly in the shock waves.

"Dinghy's hit, mate. Time to board the Calypso." Frank steered with the motor toward the rolling yacht and I grabbed the ladder. Frank stepped around me and began to climb the ladder. I followed looking at the smoking hole blasted into the end of the boat, it burned fitfully, the waves dousing the flames. Frank was on the boat and pulled me up. I ran forward to see the obese smuggler, Oswald Jenkins, pointing a gun at my pirate's head.

**Chapter 10 He's a Pirate**

I was momentarily stunned by the blast. (Maybe a bit too much explosive in the package?) I looked up to see the fat man pointing a gun at me and holding onto the railing of the heaving yacht. "Who the hell are you anyway?" he screamed at me.

"He's a pirate, obviously. Are you blind?" said a familiar voice behind me. The fat man jerked his head up towards Sherlock. As soon as the fat man looked away, I kicked him in the groin and then in his huge gut. He fell backwards and I jumped on top. Sherlock fired a gun at the other pirate who dove overboard. Sherlock said "Good riddance."

The fat man tried to bring his gun to bear but I held his wrist away from me and more importantly away from Sherlock. Another pirate showed his head from out of the cabin. I fought the fat man's wrist around until the gun pointed at the new smuggler. I got my finger over the fat man's and pulled the trigger. The new smuggler-pirate fell back into the cabin.

"Surrender you scurvy dog or suffer my wrath." I yelled to the fat man. He rolled out of my grasp. I scuttled back towards the bow, sliding on the foam washed deck, and crashed into a tall detective. He pulled me up and we ran behind the housing chased by bullets. "Shouldn't you be in hospital?" I asked.

"I believe I just saved your life." Said Sherlock smirking.

"I believe I am being useful and saving your miserable case." I said. "Now stand aside, there's dirty work afoot, pirate work."

I stuck my hat over to the port side of the housing. The fat man shot my pirate hat; he just missed my fingers. I pulled out my flare gun and fired it in the direction of the gun shot. I heard a scream. The fat man's left arm was on fire. He fell to starboard with the pitching of the yacht.

"She's taking on water." yelled Frank.

"Well let's hope she stays afloat until she's aground." I shouted back grinning. I gave Frank my last stun grenade and the flare gun. Then, I was overcome by the music and the wind and the flying salty surf and of course the adrenaline. I grabbed Sherlock's wild windblown curls and pulled him down into a kiss. (I can always claim intoxication or temporary insanity). "AR! You have been claimed by the Pirate, Captain Jack. Ha. Ha! Let's see your new partner top that!" I yelled at the stunned consulting detective

I climbed on top of the housing. "Ahoy Crew of the Calypso. I, Captain Jack the Pirate, officially commandeer your ship. Surrender now or walk the plank." I ordered. Sherlock stared at me open mouthed. (Good. Very good.)

The fat man fired at me again, hitting the mast. The splinters exploded into my face and neck. (Not the eyes. Please not the eyes. Oh. I can see. Not the eyes then.) Sherlock had snuck around the starboard side. The fat man locked eyes on me. I pulled the skinny lubbers gun out and fired point-blank at the fat man. Nothing. "God dammit! Can't you stupid sodding tits even keep your guns loaded. Curse you to Davy Jones' locker." The fat man aimed at me. I threw the useless gun in his face and dove in front of Sherlock.

The fat man missed me. (Guess the gun wasn't so useless after all.) Sherlock, grabbed me from behind, pulling me in again, as he fired at the fat man. Naturally, the shot missed as the boat pitched. We stumbled to the railing on the next roll. Frank fired the flare gun and the fat man was on fire again. I rushed him, shoving my elbow into his solar plexus. He fell heavily, putting the fire out. Mighty Captain Jack tore the gun out of the smugglers grasp and stunned the fat man with a blow to the head. Sherlock rolled the fat man onto his stomach and twisted his arm behind him. Frank put the flare gun to his head, and the fat man stopped fighting. I left the bastard to the tender mercies of Frank and Sherlock. I looked out toward the closing beach, the fifth smuggler had surrendered to the coppers. I pulled my face scarf back up and dove into the cabin.

The last pirate-smuggler was a short man with blood from a head wound pouring down his face. He was terrified and tried to shoot me but I knocked the gun out of his hand. Sherlock came bursting in, his gun drawn. Mr. Terrified Smuggler fell to the floor. "Quick, tie his hands up." Sherlock ordered.

"Who died and made you Captain?" I snapped back. "You tie him up." I pulled the wire off the telly and threw it to Sherlock. He was so surprised that he actually did as I asked. (Good. Very, very good.)

Once Sherlock had the man's hands tied up, I grabbed Mr. Terrified by his arm. "The ship is going down, see the water seeping in? Call for help on your radio." I nudged him to the controls. "Go on. Do you want us all to drown?" Sherlock studied me, his grey eyes appraising. (Good. Pretty good. I think.)

Mr. Terrified opened up the channel, "Um" he said into the mike.

"Mayday, Mayday. This is the Calypso requesting assistance. Ship is adrift…." I prompted him.

"Mayday, Mayday this is the Calypso. We need help." He practically screamed. "A crazy man, a pirate has attacked us. He's sinking our boat. He's a maniac. He's killed all the others. It's a whole team of pirates. Help us…" I broke off the communication.

"That'll do." I smirked under my scarf. "You" I poked my finger into Sherlock's chest, "take the prisoner up to the deck. Any of them give us trouble, and we make them walk the plank." Sherlock tilted his head doubtfully and squinted at me from under those eyelashes. "Well?" I demanded.

"Aye Captain Jack." He said a ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He pushed the prisoner up the ladder to the deck.

I started pulling open drawers and tearing apart the cushions. I dumped the loot on the table fixed to the deck. Sherlock returned and started pulling up the deck. I tore open a bulkhead and boxes and parcels fell out.

"John," Sherlock began.

"It's Captain Jack to you lubber, and no time to talk. The coppers just got their permission to board from the owner of the vessel. They'll be here any minute." Sherlock dumped two boxes filled with small packets on the table.

"Yes John, and have you planned our escape yet. I noticed the life-raft is till on board..." Sherlock said.

"Of course my Excellent Pirate Caper includes a dashing escape. Don't be an idiot." I said. (But only Captain Jack needs to flee, you will stay safely on board me hearty. Oi excellent pirate talk, even if it's just in my head.)

Frank poked his head in, "Yo Jack. Coast Guard is en-route and our friends on shore are launching boats. I think you may want to abandon ship."

"Right. One minute. Keep watch will you?" I asked. I tore open one packet after another. Most contained jewels and jewelry. They were falling to the deck. Some of the larger parcels contained cash and gold. There were gold ingots. Sherlock had discovered some pieces of artwork. I even found drugs which I immediately hid from Sherlock

"Well I guess they won't need a warrant since the stolen goods are in plain sight." I said smugly. "You get ready, this ship is running aground any minute now. Get up on deck. That's an order mate." Sherlock slowly backed out of the cabin, his ebony curls dripping with sea water. (Excellent. Beautiful. Wait, need to concentrate.)

I came out on deck. Lights from the shore bathed the poor broken yacht as she pitched violently in the black swells. "You have been conquered by Captain Jack the Pirate. If you scurvy dogs offend me again, you will be accursed into Davy Jones' locker and the sharks will feast on your bones. Remember, today is the day you were bested by Captain Jack the Pirate."

I put my pirate cap on securely and pulled Sherlock behind the housing. (If I'm going out, I'm going out in style.) I pulled his head down gently and kissed him thoroughly. He was definitely kissing me back this time. He pulled my head closer. (Oh. My. God. Wake up Captain Jack. Time to go) I finally had to come up for air. I squeezed his bloody arse just once, (Hell, he's already thrown me out of the flat. What more can I lose?)

I jumped up to the housing for my swashbuckling departure. I cut the ropes and dropped the smuggler's dinghy into the water. I jumped in, praying that its engine would start. Sherlock had finally realized my perfidy. Captain Jack had handcuffed Sherlock to the housing. I saluted him with my pirate hat and started the motor. (At least they took better care of this boat than their handguns.) I headed northeast toward the headland. By now, Frank should be unlocking the cuffs of my former flat mate and the love of my life. I ducked as men on shore began shooting at me. (Shite. No good. Not part of the excellent plan.) Fortunately someone on shore was screaming and cursing, and the gunfire stopped.

I pointed the dinghy straight at the rocky cliff and gunned the motor before I abandoned ship (Abandoned dinghy?) The combers caught the little craft and it crashed onto the rocks. Thus ended the brief and exciting life of Captain Jack the Pirate and the Excellent Pirate Caper.

I kept swimming past the headland. It was much farther than I had thought. My left shoulder was definitely freezing up. I was tired. The music was gone. (This sucks. I'm going to die. This really sucks. Keep swimming. Keep moving. Please God, don't let me die.) The rocks of the headland were much too close, the surf was exploding on to them with ghostly spray and the sound of thunder. The water itself was as black as outer space and the sky was dark, the moon all but hidden in the clouds. (Keep swimming. Think of warm lips and curly hair. I am not cold. I am not tired. Please, please let me see Sherlock one last time.) The cold black water was trying to pull me under. I began to fear the sea. I only wanted land. (Actually I want Sherlock. And the land. Even if he's still hating me I want to see him one more time. After all, he did come out to the Calypso and he did kiss me back. Sherlock and the land. Swim Captain Jack, swim.)

**Chapter 11 Losing John**

My flat-mate/blogger (best friend/partner), John Watson, had lost his mind. He was in fact dressed as a pirate and attacking armed men with a toy sword. He was wearing a tricorn hat, a sash and a wet shirt which clung to his muscled torso. (My blogger, while possibly insane, was now irresistibly attractive). In the midst of fighting he had grabbed me and kissed me. I had never seen his eyes so wild and filled with desire. His lips were cold, but somehow set my lips on fire.

Just as the crisis seemed over, John pulled me back around the housing, his dark eyes gleaming. He pulled me into another embrace. His cold, wet lips pressed into mine, and this time I was prepared. I pulled his head closer and ran my tongue along his lips and then into his hot mouth. His lips melted into mine. (John Watson is a pirate, and he's stolen my heart.) Then the unthinkable happened. He pulled away. The drums and horns of the music were blaring. My Pirate jumped onto the housing, and dropped the Calypso's lifeboat into the water. I couldn't join him because John Watson had cuffed me to a railing. (Impossible, how could I have been so distracted. Was that kissing only a distraction? Wait John is leaving without me?) "No, No Joh…,.. Jack. No Jack. Stop." He had jumped into the lifeboat. (No John.) I pulled against the handcuffs. In spite of the life-boat's pitching, John was saluting me with his bloody hat. The little boats engine was engaged and John began to pull away from us. (John is smiling, smiling as he leaves me here.)

The ship shuddered. The Calypso rose in the surf, then came down hard on the sands. We were aground. Frank finally unlocked my cuffs, although I was prepared to pick the lock myself. The lifeboat was already many meters away. The police were boarding the Calypso. Lestrade grabbed my arm. "Where is he.? Where is John?"

(Think. Think. Protect John.) "No, no John. John wasn't here. It was a vigil ante or something. I need to get to shore. Dear God NO! They are firing on the pirate! MAKE THEM STOP!" I threw myself into a boat and was followed by Frank. Lestrade pushed a young constable into the boat; and he ordered us back to shore. Mycroft had stopped the gunfire but the lifeboat was in trouble. I watched as the tiny boat crashed into the rocks. I could not see John at all. (No. This cannot be happening.)

Frank was leaning over to me as the young constable was cuffing his one arm and reading him his rights. "Plan B, to avoid capture, the pirate Captain tries to swim to the other side of the headland. Go." I started out toward the headland. Mycroft tried to block me. "Keep all the police here, on this side of the rocks." I demanded. Then I added "Please."

**Chapter 12 The Not so Great Escape**

OK, letting the dinghy crash dramatically into the rocks was not my best decision of the night. I was not a great swimmer, and I was tired, dangerously, stupidly tired. "Idiot!" I imagined a certain detective with silvery grey eyes saying. I somehow made it around the headland as I chanted 'Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirates life for me'. My muscles were starting to cramp and freeze up too. I let myself float for a couple of minutes. The sky was black; the sea was black. It was endless night with no up or down. (OK. I can be catatonic later, right now swim.)

I started swimming again, trying to gain the land. Sod the police. Let them prove it was me out there. (Oh wait; I'm wearing the pirate clothes. Then there's the evidence in my satchel. Right. Please keep the coppers away from me. My excellent adventure has become a nightmare.) I switched my chant to "Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum." I had a terrible stitch in my side, I imagined fifteen pirates dancing on my chest and not sharing their rum.

As I finally closed into the shore, I reached the powerful raging breakers. They pounded me under. It was dark and I tumbled underwater, not knowing which way was up. I fought panic but panic was winning. I fought to find the air. My chest was burning; I couldn't hold my breath any more. I was back up, gasping the air and water in equal amounts. The sky was still black; the moon had vanished in the clouds. Another massive wave crashed on top of me, once more I was tumbling in the surf, trying to hold my breath as my lungs screamed for air. I was on the bottom, scraped by the rocks and sand. I stood and was in the air for seconds, choking before another wave broke on me and dragged me down. I was dizzy and disoriented. No up or down, no top or bottom. I tried to remember his lips and his taste before I died. My dying lungs forced me to inhale the salty water.

The sea spit me out in shallow water. I crawled though the dark water and grey foam onto the rocky beach as waves rushed past me. I collapsed in the water and was violently sick. A larger wave broke onto my back. Then the relentless retreating water tried to pull me back into the hungry sea. I pushed up on my right arm and crawled forward away from the furious ocean. I finally dropped flat onto the stones.

I lay gasping in the dark while the angry sea dashed itself against me. I hoped that the headland blocked me from the view of the police. (I may have done the right thing by stopping murderers and thieves but I certainly broke a dozen laws here tonight.) I strongly considered getting up to jog (limp) down the beach and away from the coppers. (Why am I calling the police, the coppers anyway?) I strongly considered escape but instead I just lay there and enjoyed breathing (You know what, Sherlock, breathing is not boring.) And the tide came in around me.

I listened to the breakers crashing behind me and the water hissing around me. I heard a new noise. (Shite. Someone gasping? Someone running. It's the dirty coppers. Get up and run Captain Jack. Run.) I was too exhausted to run, let alone fight. The copper was gasping and moaning. (Moaning? Someone may be hurt, in pain. Get up Dr Watson. Get up.) I couldn't get up, but I forced my eyes open. A man knelt beside me, his trousers getting soaked. He touched my cheek with one hand and with the other tried to lift my head out of the water. I looked up into silvery eyes reflecting the moonlight, which leaked through the wrack of clouds above.

"John? John please answer me." Sherlock whispered. (Sherlock? But, But arm wound. Hospital. Wait, I'm useless. I'm replaceable…) He was pulling me up against his chest.

"No. Sherlock. No stop. Your arm. You should be in bed. In hospital." I said between breaths. I forced my protesting body into a sitting position then collapsed onto the man clutching me. "What the hell is Mycroft thinking of, letting you out of hospital. And your good clothes all wet. You are ruining your shoes! And, what? What are you staring at?" (Oh right. He was on the Calypso with me. Oh God, now for the scathing reply. He'll rip me apart for my most Excellent Pirate Caper. And the kiss, he'll tear me apart for that.)

**Chapter 13 He's a Gay Pirate**

I climbed the hill to get a better view of the sea and the beaches. Maybe John really had a plan to avoid the police. But I don't remember John claiming to be a strong swimmer. And the sea was rough tonight. (John don't die. Please, John, please give me another chance.) Maybe he's swum ashore. I Gazed at the activity on the beach below and on the shipwrecked Calypso. I saw a dark shape lying in the shallow water below, the waves washing around it. I began stumbling over the rocks and down to the beach. I ran. I ran over the rocks. A body. A body in the water. I heard myself moan. I didn't care. (Nothing else matters. Nothing else will ever matter. Only John matters.) I fell to my knees and stroked his cheek. I heard a gasping breath that wasn't mine. I slowly lifted his face and his eyes opened. I pulled him close as I muttered his name.

Typical John, he worried about me and my stupid arm wound instead of himself. I pulled him closer unable to speak. I couldn't think, John had disrupted my mind completely. And I was fine with that. All I could think about was John. (John. Alive. John. Alive.) I stared at him as he panted tiredly. He had a deep laceration, about 5 cm long, on his cheek, which might require sutures and a split lower lip. Bruising under the left eye 6x8 cm and probably growing. Small bruise and lump on left temple (2-3 cm). Holding left arm tight against his body, shoulder strained. Possible rib injuries as well. Right hand clenched. Split knuckles on the 2nd , 3rd and 4th digits and the 5th is dislocated or broken. Left hand split knuckle on 3rd digit. Wearing a red bandana and a red sash. Shivering and possible mental confusion indicating hypothermia. Assessment, multiple non-life threatening injuries and hypothermia, can not rule out concussion. Treatment-warmth, hot liquids with sugar for energy, wounds may be treated at home; observe for signs of concussion. Biggest risk is capture and questioning by police with John facing arrest for kidnapping, piracy and inter. Plan-remove to a hotel and prepare alibi.)

"...And what? What are you staring at?" John asked looking angry and proud and vulnerable all at the same time.

I smiled a little at my (adorable) blogger. I pulled the bandana off his head and I kissed his salty, sandy spiky hair. John relaxed in my arms and nestled into my chest. (A most favorable response.)

"Come on Captain Jack. We have to get you out of here. Your exploits on the yacht were creative and indeed successful, but they were also, unfortunately. illegal." I said as I pulled John into a stand. He staggered a bit but with my arm around his waist we began heading up the beach.

Halfway up the beach John came to an abrupt stop. He pushed me away and got his proud, distant, officer's look. "I believe I can make it on my own now. Thank you for your assistance Mr. Holmes."

"John..." I began.

"No, I've taken up enough of your time. You stated your preferences quite clearly today. I shall move out directly. But I shall leave you with this." John stumbled forward and grabbed my hand. He placed seven gemstones and a tiny gold ingot in my hand. John straightened up into an approximation of his military stance (Clearly his shoulder was giving him a great deal of pain. Oh John stop this. Please stop.) "So Mr. Holmes do you think your next partner will be able to accomplish so much. Humm?" John pivoted and nearly fell. Stumbling, he began to walk up towards the road. (John please stop, you're breaking my heart.)

Instictively, I reached out for John."John? If you leave me, there will be no new partner. I could never find a replacement for you. You are irreplaceable. You are" (I have to risk the truth) "… John, you are the most important thing in my life…" He kept walking. He still looked like a pirate with his sash on. "You, you are _my_ pirate." John stopped.

He looked at me doubtfully. "You realize that I am a gay pirate. I am Captain Jack, the gay pirate. Of course, I think we can both agree that you will definitely never find another pirate to be your partner. Especially a gay pirate." John stood with his chin tilted up challenging me.

(Oh God, he wasn't just trying to distract me with that kiss on the boat. And he was giving me another chance, possibly my last chance.) I walked up slowly, watching to make sure I got this right. I placed my hand on his poor bleeding cheek and bent down to kiss him. Captain Jack tasted of blood and salt and sand. He reached up to pull me closer and ran his tongue along my lips. John leaned into me and continued the kiss, our tongues exploring each other. I tugged on his lower lip, and he sank fully into my embrace. I had John back and finally the gnawing pain that was in my chest all day eased. I reluctantly pulled away; I needed to get him away from here. I led my pirate captain to Mycroft's car which waiting on the side of the road.

**Chapter 14 Alibis and Debauchery**

"OK, Sherlock Holmes, tell me again why we stopped at this decrepit, little hotel," I asked as I shivered on the stained greenish carpet in the dingy hotel room.

"Firstly, John to warm you up, you are suffering from hypothermia. As a medical man you are no doubt aware of the seriousness of your condition," I rolled my eyes but had to clench my teeth to keep from shivering. Maybe he had a point. "Secondly, John we need to establish your alibi."

"Which is…?" I asked.

"Oh, your alibi. Simple, always keep it simple. As you embark upon your life of piracy and crime remember to keep your lies simple, and in your case, stick as close to the truth as possible. After all you are a terrible liar. So you got mad, got drunk, fell in the water and called your friends for help and could only get ahold of me. I of course brought you here to sober up and engage in a night of debauchery." Sherlock was enjoying this. He was happy and excited. It was almost as if there had been a triple murder in three separate locked rooms.

"Wait, a night of debauchery, as in us?" I was confused. (Well if I am confused, perhaps I should surrender the planning to Sherlock for the rest of the night. After all his plans seemed sound enough, alibis and debauchery. What's wrong with a bit of debauchery between friends?)

"Yes John, debauchery as in us. Please try to keep up John. Remember that you are a in fact a gay pirate. You are a desperate villain and you crave debuachery. You are the pirate who hijacked a vessel and ran it aground. You nearly killed five men, and you kidnapped a disabled veteran who was looking for his drunk friend who fell in the water."

"Wait, if I fell in the water, how could I also kidnap Frank?" I asked getting confused

"You John, fell in the water for your alibi: we must assume that the pirate was not you obviously, even though you were" Sherlock explained, his eyes gleaming. I had no idea what he was talking about now. Sherlock smirked as he bounced on his toes. He seemed to think he was very clever. "Now that we have established that you are a gay pirate, you will need to complete the evening with a round of debauchery."

"Now, to maintain your alibi, have a drink. Actually, have three. It will assist in the debauchery too of course," I baulked at this. He eyed me sternly, "Yes John drink up. Please trust me, I've calculated that you require three shots of scotch to have the appropriate blood level of alcohol in one hour when I expect the police to interview you. They will assume, incorrectly, that you are drunk but sobering up and that during the grounding of the Calypso, you were too intoxicated to have been the pirate."

"You have some Scotch too then, pirates don't drink alone." I said. (Oh God I sound like a baby. Try again , like a pirate.). "Give me the bottle Sherlock, I'll have some and you have some." I smiled and drank a swig. (Ar, like a pirate.) I handed the bottle to my flat mate and waited. He looked at it distastefully. "Ar, a pirate would drink it." I said smugly.

He took a swig,(Ha, he still wants to be a pirate. My Most Excellent Pirate Caper is not over yet. Arrr.) I took another swig. He smiled archly and took his swig. I watched to make sure that he actually swallowed. Judging by his friendly smile, he was tricking me, somehow. I took my third swig, rather more than I intended, but at least I was acting like a pirate.

Sherlock had avoided his last share of scotch; smug look explained. (Typical Holmesian trick.) He came over and began to unbutton my shirt. (Well this is an interesting new development.) "Is it time for the debauchery?" I asked hopefully.

"No it's time for your hot bath. Please try to remember the plan. First you need to be warmed up," he said looking all tall and superior, and hot definitely hot.

"Well, actually debauchery might warm me up too, just saying." I tried valiantly to grab his long fingered hands.

"John you need to warm up and be prepared to face questioning by the police. Now, let me help you out of these clothes. I think I should hide this shirt and this sash." He slowly unwrapped the sash like I was his Christmas present. (Oh God) "Yes, yes I see you blushing, very nice. Now the pants... John let go of your boxers," He ordered with a smirk.

"No. I'm keeping the boxers," I stood shivering and nearly naked in front of my flat mate. Said flat mate steered me to the tub. The bathroom was old with cracked tiles and a dim yellow light. I soon found myself immersed in the hot water and finally relaxing. Sherlock never left the bathroom; He sat on the cold floor with his legs drawn up to his chest. He just stared at me. He looked cold and uncomfortable.(I liked tall and superior and hot better.)

"You don't have to sit in here you know." I said, crossing my arms in front of my chest, feeling uncomfortably shy. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"Um, do you want to soak your feet Sherlock; you could if you want to." I asked uncertainly.

Sherlock instantly stripped his pants off and sat on the edge of the tub with his feet in the water. I smiled and started giggling. "What are you sniggering at John?" he asked.

"You. The great Sherlock Holmes is sharing a tub in his silk boxers with his nearly naked blogger. People will talk." I giggled some more. (Nervous hysteria, stop it John Watson) "Um if you're that cold, you better get in the tub too." (Oh My God. I just invited Sherlock into the tub with me. OH MY GOD, HE'S GETTING IN.) (PIRATES RULE!)(OH MY GOD. I'M THINKING IN CAPITALS LIKE A FANGIRL!)

He sat at one end with no shirt, just boxers,(NO SHIRT, JUST BOXERS. OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD); his legs were drawn up to his chest. "Um, put your legs out and relax Sherlock. Umm, that's right. Good." I said hoping my voice wasn't as squeaky as it sounded to my ears.

"John, turn around and then you can lean back against me. The body heat will be, um good for you," he said in his deep baritone. As I leaned against his chest, his arms came down around me. His chin rested on my freshly washed hair. This was the sexiest moment of my life; of course I fell asleep.

**Chapter 15 Questions and Answers**

I felt John melt into me. I breathed into his spiky wet hair. I soon realized he had fallen asleep. I clutched him tighter. How many times did John almost die tonight? How many times did I almost lose him. He was my pirate, who commandeered a yacht and subdued murderers and smugglers all for me. John who faced down an armed man with toy sword and music and extreme bravery. I kissed his head vowing to keep him safer from now on. The water began to cool, "Come on John, time for bed," I said. I got us out of the tub and dried off. I stuffed my sleepy blogger into the bed. I put my damp trousers back on.

There was a loud knock on the door. (Perfect timing, if I do say so myself.) I let in Greg Lestrade and Mycroft. Greg stared at my bare chest. (Dull) then he blushed as he saw John in bed shirtless (Actually naked, but that is between me and my Pirate.) Mycroft of course smirked, with one side of his mouth turned up.

"Erm, I need to ask John some questions," said a clearly embarrassed Detective Inspector.

"He's sleeping; and he's a bit intoxicated. I doubt you'll get anything useful from him anyway." I responded, John slept on.

"Sherlock, you dragged all of us out here to Cawsand because you said John would try to take on the smugglers. And lo and behold a man hijacks the Calypso and forces it ashore. The man disappears. Afterwards you suddenly pull John out of a hat and tell us he had nothing to do with the Calypso. Someone broke the law, so I need to question John," said Lestrade. I stood in front of the bed to block the irritated Detective Inspector. "Now, Sherlock."

"Gregory, surely you don't think John Watson was leaping around and knocking those men about all by himself. Anyway, do you really think John Watson would dress up in fancy dress to do so?" Mycroft asked as he smiled smugly at the gently snoring blond in the bed. (The prat knows, of course.) "The so-called pirate has already called the local constabulary and taken the credit for this nights work. I should think you would be grateful for his assistance."

"Thank you Mr Holmes, but I do in fact believe John can and would board a ship and knock the crew about, all by himself and in fancy dress if necessary. The only reason he's not in custody now is because I have no proof. The Pirate cleverly wore nitrile gloves and kept his face covered." Lestrade glared at Mycroft and me.

"Please call me Mycroft," said my brother smiling at the Detective Inspector. (What game is Mycroft playing now, surely not...)

"Oh, well, thank you, Mister..., erm Mycroft. And, erm, please call me Greg." said Lestrade blushing. "So, erm, where did you find John anyway, Sherlock?" Greg asked.

"He finally called my mobile phone a couple of hours ago. That's why I left the beach. I went to pick him up along the highway. Some motorist had stopped and let him use their phone. I brought him here because I knew you would want to question him. However, he was drunk, and so I put him to bed. I can tell you what he was doing…"

"Actually I need to hear it from John, as you well know," said Greg suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. He went over and shook John's shoulder. I felt myself tense up and scowl. My stomach clenched a bit. (Probably the scotch I had to drink to encourage John. No, it is a protective instinct.)

John sat up rubbing his eyes and looking around, confused and worried. (Protective instinct increasing noticeably.) I was uncertain what to do for John. He finally located me and stared at me, half raising his hand. I pushed past the (threatening) Detective Inspector to sit on the edge of the bed next to John, and take John's hand in mine. "John, Lestrade needs to ask you some questions. Are you OK with that?" John nodded still seeming unsure (What if he forgets his alibi, what if he's too drunk. Perhaps I gave him too much scotch. I will not allow John to be threatened.)

"OK John, um John are you listening." John looked at Lestrade and then back to me before he nodded. "Right John, I'm going to need to bring in a PC to take notes. Do you want to get dressed?"

"My clothes are a bit wet Greg, I fell in the water. I had a bit too much to drink," mumbled John. "Just bring the PC in; and let's get this over with." (So far, so good. A drunk, subdued John, not at all piratical.)

Lestrade brought in a young female PC, a pretty petite blonde. John blushed, and I fumed (She's John's perfect type, I hate her. I hate Lestrade and Mycroft for bringing her.)

"So, John. Can you tell me what you have been doing since you left the hospital this afternoon. Take your time," said the Detective Inspector.

"I don't think this a good time," I interrupted.

"It's fine. It's all fine," said John with a smile towards the PC. (I hate her forever.) "Let's see. I left the hospital because Sherlock said I was useless. He said that I should move out of our flat and that he wanted a new colleague." John looked to the PC who tutted sympathetically and then gave me a sideways glare. "So after Sherlock said that I was useless, I left to go be useless somewhere else. Clearly, I wasn't wanted at the hospital so I went to visit some of my friends. They don't call me useless." I could not restrain an eye roll after John repeated the word useless for the fourth time.

"I had a few beers, actually Frank and I both did. Raz just had the one since he was driving. I told them how I got blamed for the smugglers escape and, that I was useless, so we drove out to look at the yacht. Frank and I went in this raft-boat thingy, and the waves were real big, and I fell in. I must have gotten caught in a riptide and swept away. I almost died again. Do you know I died in Afghanistan? I died twice." The PC looked at John with wide eyes. Actually he had all of our attention now, except Mycroft who still smirked.

"Oh yeah," John said. "I was shot in the shoulder and bled out. I coded twice. They had to resuscitate me a couple of times. So I don't think I should count tonight as a near death experience since I never stopped breathing and my heart never stopped beating. Although it did break." John played with his sheets then closed his eyes. (What the bloody hell? Is John really this upset, or is he acting?)

"John, before you go back to sleep, could you please finish your account." asked Lestrade who was scrubbing his hands across his face in frustration and exhaustion. John looked blankly at Lestrade. "You said you fell in the water; I assume that you swam to shore."

"Oh yeah, I swam and got knocked into some rocks. I got banged up a bit by the rocks. When I got to shore, I walked to some road and called my friends who don't think I'm so useless, but they didn't answer. So I called Sherlock to see if he might help and he came and got me, even though he doesn't like me anymore." John looked sad. The PC sighed and looked up at John shaking her head. She glared at me straight on.

"Ok John, when did you have your drinks and how many? When did you fall in the water?" asked Lestrade, who was also glaring at me now.

"Um, lot of beer, five or seven or so and some scotch. Who cares, I'm useless." John said pitifully.(The pain had returned to my chest. Was I sad because John doesn't trust me or is this guilt? Is John pretending? It's too confusing.) John started to get out of bed, with no clothes on.

"John! Stay in bed! You don't have your, um clothes on." I said. (If John gets out naked tonight, he'll be mortified in the morning.)

John looked down at himself confused and started giggling. The PC was giggling with him. Lestrade held the bridge of his nose. Mycroft smirked. "Sherlock took all my clothes away. First I'm useless and now I have no clothes," John looked mournful but started giggling and fell back down. The sheets fell exposing his chest and stomach. He began laughing hysterically.

Lestrade tried to finish. "John have you ever set foot on the yacht Calypso?"

John thought about it between giggles. "No, did you? I bet it sailed away and now Sherlock's going to blame me for that too. I'll probably never get my clothes back." John said lugubriously. (At least he isn't acting anything like a pirate.)

"Right. Um, I think that's enough for tonight. We'll let John sleep it off and he can give a better statement tomorrow. He's obviously not the six-foot tall pirate that the smugglers described. Sherlock what did you see? Frank Byron claimed that he never even got a good look at the Pirate." Lestrade was frowning at John who was giggling again and mumbling about pirates with six feet.

"Once I was certain that John was not on board, I was busy trying to ensure that the culprits did not escape or kill Frank or myself. The man who dressed as a pirate was probably an inch or so shorter than me, say five feet, eleven inches. His hair was covered by a bandana, his eyes were brown. He had a scarf over his face and his voice was a deeper tenor than John. Very athletic, " I said. "Quite muscular. I suppose you are still searching for him?" Lestrade nodded.

John burst up again, nearly dislodging his sheets. "I'm muscular. I can be athteleical."

"Fine. Thank you John. Good luck Sherlock, I think you'll have your hands full tonight." Lestrade was ushering out the PC who was waving at John. (He's waving back and winking while sitting there half naked. I hate the PC and John too.)

"Wait don't go. We could all go out. What's her name? Where's my clothes," said John, trying to get out of bed again. The door shut on the two police officers. Mycroft began applauding softly.

"Masterfully done John. A bit heavy on the useless theme, but still very well done,' said Mycroft.

"Thanks," said John instantly more sober. "Well Sherlock did say that I was useless; I was just repeating it." (Oh, John is not drunk, at least not very drunk. Mycroft saw through it better than I did. I hate Mycroft.)

"Well John, given your performance on the ship and in here you may have the makings of a successful stage career or perhaps you'd like to serve Queen and Country within my office. You are clearly underutilized working as an assistant to my brother," said my brother, the traitor. (Trying to steal my partner and only friend.)

"Thanks Mycroft, but while you may not be impressed, this wound really did kill me twice so I think I've done my bit for Queen and Country... Of course if I get thrown out of my flat and have to find a new job, I'll keep you in mind. I guess your work wouldn't be too dull and then there's probably travel…"

"John, we've been through this. You do not have to move out now or ever. You do not need a new job. Goodbye Mycroft. Your help was very nice. Now go." I said pushing my traitorous brother out of the room.

"Well, did I act convincingly enough for you Mr. Holmes," John asked smiling cheekily at me.

"What part of all that was true John?" I asked, still trying to sort all of the data out.

"All of it was true Sherlock. Except I didn't have any scotch until you forced me. Can I have more to drink now?" he asked.

"No, you've had more than enough tonight. Did you really need to be resuscitated twice." I sat next to my blogger as I tried to reorganize the John Wing of my Mind Palace, yet again.

"Well yes, of course I don't remember it. I was unconscious, clinically dead. You do realize that means you almost didn't get to meet Captain Jack the Pirate," he tried to joke. (John almost died before I even met him. Technically he did die. He almost died again tonight because I sent him away.) I rapidly visualized John dead in Afghanistan, dead on the yacht, dead in the water. I remembered seeing him washed up on the beach earlier tonight, thinking it was his dead body. My thoughts ground to a halt.

"…Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock?" I became aware of John kneeling next to me on the bed. His hand grasped my jaw, turning me to face him. "Sherlock, are you OK? Hello? "

"John, I thought you were dead on the beach. It was horrible." I touched his face and gently traced the laceration, the bruising. "John, I honestly can't bear the thought of losing you." I stared into his blue eyes, and he smiled sympathetically. "John, was that how you felt when I seemed to die? Did you feel like that for long?"

John recoiled as if I had struck him. He stared at me as if I was a stranger. (He sees me for the freak that I am now. He'll hate me. He'll leave me.)

"Sherlock I don't exactly know how you felt tonight. But when I thought you were de..., when you were gone, I know I felt pain and emptiness and utter loneliness. It hurt. It hurt a hundred times worse than my bullet wound. It hurt a hundred times more than losing my friends in Afghanistan. I basically felt that way for three years." John spoke grimly. (I've hurt John too much. Today will have been the final straw...)

John was still talking, "After the first year or so, I had short breaks when the pain dulled for an hour or two. However, most of the time it was there. It comes back quite often even now that you're back." John was scrunching his face, forcing the tears back. "It came back again, today. It's back now in fact." He muttered, as he turned to hide his face. (Oh, well done, I've made him cry. No wonder he wants to leave.)

After approximately 2.5 minutes, John turned back to me, 'I'm sorry that you got upset tonight Sherlock. It's not a nice feeling is it?" I shook my head. (Idiot, you're acting like a child.) "He continued, "Of course neither of us is dead, so that's encouraging isn't it?" He smiled even though his eyes still swam with unshed tears.

"John," I said reaching out for him, (John the bravest man I know. Smiling for me, even when he's in pain.) "John." I hugged him close.

"Sherlock, are you sure you want me back at 221B?" he asked.

"Yes, of course…"

"Sherlock," he interrupted, leaning back a little, he was still naked and apparently unconcerned. I admired the view. (Of course, this lack of modesty would seem to indicate that John is in fact fairly well intoxicated. I considered my various options.) "…Sherlock I'm asking you a question, please try to keep up. I asked if you are still married to your work?" John's dark blue eyes were intent, and he chewed his inner lip in concentration.

My lips began to curl up of their own accord seeing that look on John as he knelt next to me, his own nakedness forgotten. "No John, I am not married to my work. As important as my work is, I've found that you are even more important. That has been true for some time now"

"Well that's good because I'm not _not gay_ anymore. John rolled off the bed and grabbed my phone. "I hope you don't mind, I want some music. He played with my mobile as I watched his amazing body, all muscle except his soft stomach. I memorized the fine hairs on his arms and legs. I finally fixed my attention on his fine arse and his other manly attributes. I felt increasingly warm. (Maybe I have a fever? Am I blushing? Nonsense, that's John's job.)

Music began playing on my smart phone, it was the same 'pirate music' that he had played on the yacht. He set the phone down and began turning off lights leaving one on low. He crawled back onto the bed and straddled my lap. His arms twined around my neck and he stared into my eyes, "Sherlock, you promised debauchery. A pirate expects to receive his bounty when promised. I think it's time for some debauchery." His last words were breathed into my open mouth and he followed up with a slow deep gentle kiss.

"John, " I said in between kisses, "I think it only fair to warn you that although I am inexperienced in relationships, I am no virgin. I began to kiss my pirate thoroughly. I kissed his roughly stubbled cheek, then trailed kisses down his jaw. I buried my face in his neck as he moaned my name. I grabbed his buttocks and pulled him close. He moaned again.

**Chapter 16 Pirate Booty**

I didn't recall surrendering my command but found that my first mate had certainly taken over our ship. As far as I was concerned, he was steering into uncharted waters; I had never made love to another man. "Beware matey, there be monsters in these waters I whispered," before I lost control and moaned. I covered my mouth with my hand to keep the noise down, but the Pirate Captain Sherlock pulled it away.

"I want to hear you moan Jack. I to hear you moan for me," he bit my neck and then sucked hard, leaving love marks. I moaned again, completely under his spell. "Don't worry Jack, I can deal with the monsters here."Said Captain Sherlock, the Pirate.

Sherlock, (Not a virgin, not at all a virgin. Oh God.) turned me on my back and straddled me. I bit my hand involuntarily before he pulled it back. "I said, I wanted to hear you John. And I can think of something else for your hands to do." He placed my hands over his bulging crotch. (Yes good idea!) I unzipped his trousers and pulled them down in one maneuver. (Oh my God, Oh my God. Oh God!)

My mind went AWOL as Sherlock voice became a series subterranean rumbles of "John, oh my John, my John. Ahh, John." in between kisses and love bites. Thankfully, another pirate was here to steer the ship safely through the storm.

Sherlock fell panting onto my chest, spent and exhausted. My eyesight gradually returned as I listened to Sherlock's heaving breath mingle with mine. I kissed Sherlock's forehead and then along his razor sharp cheekbones. I carded his ebony hair with my still aching left hand and caressed his neck and back with my right. I murmured over and over how beautiful he was. He nestled his face into my shoulder, kissing my horrible scar. Somehow, tonight, he made the scar seem not ugly, not hideous. The pirate music continued on around us, caressing us until we slept.

I woke up the next morning in bed next to the world's only consulting detective. He had entwined himself around me and I had wrapped my right arm tightly around his waist. He wore only his unbuttoned shirt. I slowly ran my fingers through his dark curls, in his sleep, he looked so peaceful and content, so beautiful and magical. (How did I, a mere mortal end up sleeping next to a young pirate god.)

I looked around the strange hotel room it had shed some of its shabbiness after last nights ecstasy. The green walls were no longer dingy, they now wore a patina of mellowness. The hoary grey-green curtains were even beautiful this morning despite the fraying edges. (Grey-green like Sherlock's eyes in the sun. Last night his eyes had been piercing silver. Oh hell. I can imagine his scathing responses if he heard me waxing poetic again.)

I looked at my jeans and shirt drying over the radiator. I saw a pile of stones on the table. It was a very large pile of gemstones and another pile of gold ingots. I sat up staring. Had I grabbed that much? When had Sherlock piled it there? He must have gotten up during the night. (Oh God, look at all that stolen property. I really am a pirate. Oh God, I'm a thief. A criminal!)

I felt the heat rising, I must be blushing again. (What will Sherlock say?)

John was staring at the pirate booty. He began blushing. It traveled up his chest and neck into his face. (Blushing, endearing. Adorable. Arousing.) I reached my arms around him, my injured arm only giving me a twinge of discomfort. "Come here my adorable pirate." I said.

John stiffened in my embrace. "I am not adorable." He protested.

"I will be the judge of that John." I said kissing his neck and shoulders. "At least you don't deny that you're mine." I ran my lips across his scar. He tensed but did not pull away.

He turned in towards me, "Look Sherlock, about that, those, the gems and …Well I have to turn them in. I don't know what happened. I guess I got carried away last night. The excitement and the beer and the music and you on board with me and …,"

I tuned him fully around. I grimaced at the bruising on his chest and the cuts on his face and his poor arm still held stiffly to his side. "John, you earned that pirate treasure. You stopped the smugglers and killers. They are all in custody because of you. The ship is impounded and the stolen goods recovered because of the Pirate Captain. No one will miss that" I pointed to the pirate booty glittering on the table as a sliver of sunlight struck it. "Surely you don't imagine that I have any qualms about fencing it for you. I know how to be careful, and I won't fence it all at once. It will be fine. Think of it as your bounty, as your reward."

John looked at me with trust in his dark blue eyes. Eyes like the sea, I kissed my Pirate Captain. (I must get some pirate hats when we return to London. And some swords.) I kissed John harder at the thought of him in a new pirate hat. (Surely there's time for a bit more debauchery before we return to London.) "You will trust me to take care of it for you?" I asked. John hesitated. "Jawhhhn," I breathed into his ear, "Some of that bounty belongs to Frank and Raz, don't you think? Now let me take care of it." John nodded staring into my eyes as if mesmerized. (Pupils fully dilated, heart rate accelerated, breathing uneven and shallow, face flushed. Excellent.)

I kissed him some more, I was already learning that John was much more pliable when thoroughly kissed. I momentarily lost track of my plan as John bit my lips and neck and returned to explore my mouth. I finally pulled back, "John Watson, over the last few months I designed a few experiments that we could work on together." John pulled further back. His eyes narrowed then widened, his head tilted as he eyed me suspiciously. "John, you can trust me. The experiments on intimate relations will be quite pleasant for both of us. You seemed to enjoy experiment number one earlier."

"That was an experiment!" he sputtered. "And I'm just a convenient guinea pig! And you think I'm so desperate for sex I'll just say yes while you run five or six experiments on me; and then when you're done, you'll just move on…"

I had to kiss John quickly and very hard to shut him up. I only pulled up when he seemed ready to pass out from lack of breath. (John will be incapable of speechor accusations for approximately 45 seconds. I shall have to speak quickly.) "Actually John, I have forty seven experiments lined up so far and of course they will all have to be repeated many times to ensure that I have adequate data. Frankly, it will probably take years, possibly decades to amass the data. I hope you can commit to such a long-term project John, because I seriously doubt that I will ever find another suitable partner. You yourself said that I will never find another gay Pirate to be my partner. I feel that this project will be my magnum opus. Now are you prepared to join me, Jawhhn." I whispered the last as I kissed his ear. Inside I was terrified. (What if I'm moving too fast? What if I have misjudged the evidence? What if I was just his, what does John call it, his one night stand?)

John began to giggle, (A hopeful sign?) "A magnum opus? I'm part of your magnum opus?"

"No, you are the magnum opus." I kissed my blushing magnum opus.

"Wait, what...How many…forty experiments? Are there forty ways to…" John stammered, his blue eyes wide in his beet red face. (Adorable. Much too adorable. Must begin an experiment immediately.)

" No, John. I said forty-seven experiments, so far. Please try to keep up John. I began kissing his neck, making my way down the middle of his well-muscled chest. "Actually, I think I just thought of another one, make that forty-eight." I murmured into John's navel.

"Oh God," muttered John. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. (An obvious tell for John. He's made up his mind.) "Very well Sherlock, I accept your offer and consent to your experiments. Damn the torpedoes, and full speed ahead."

"Excellent John. Come with me at once. I believe we will skip straight to experiment number seven." I tugged on his good arm.

"What, where are we going? We're naked!" John sputtered again.

"I can see that John, you are stating the obvious." I said as I admired my bloggers booty. "Surely a pirate of your experience must realize that most of the experiments will require that we be naked. As number seven occurs in the shower, clothes would be a certain encumbrance." I smiled as I drew him into the bathroom. "Come along John; pirates like the water."

**Epilogue-Four days later**

I sat in Greg Lestrad's office drinking tea. I had been brought in for official questioning about the grounding of the Calypso. I stuck to Sherlock's story for my alibi. Since the grounding allowed for the recovery of so much stolen property including some very valuable artwork, they accepted my alibi quickly. The authorities were just as pleased that the mysterious pirate had conveniently disappeared making their work less complicated. Sherlock, Frank and the unknown pirate received the praise and fame. I was the amusing sidekick. And it was all fine with me. (After all, I have my pirate boot. More importantly, I am the magnum opus of the World's Only Consulting Detective.) Sherlock smirked at me from the doorway. (Oh my God, he smirked like that last night, wearing a pirate hat.) I blushed again.

"John, we need to leave in five minutes. I know that this tea is not up to your usual standard so please put it down and come along" Sherlock demanded, smiling. (Yes Sherlock was smiling in public now, and the entire yard found it suspicious and very amusing. They know. They all know that we are a couple now. Hopefully they'll never find out about the pirate hats.) Of course I blushed more.

Greg got up, "He'll be done soon Sherlock. If you think you can be parted from John for a minute, I need to talk to him. Alone." Greg said shutting the door in Sherlock's surprised face.

"What is it, Greg," I asked a trifle worried.

"Look officially, we all accept your story John." Greg said. "No don't say anything. I, and most of the Yard, know bloody well that you were the pirate. Remember I was there. Did they teach you all that swashbuckling in the army? I know I've never seen anything like it. It's just a shame that you can't take the credit and receive some reward. But of course some prosecutor would want to charge you, and we don't want that. Anyway, that's not what I really want to talk to you about."

"It's about Sherlock and you, sort of." Greg looked down at the grimy. grey carpeting. "Look I don't want to invade your privacy but it's obvious that you and he have reached an understanding since the night of the Great Pirate Adventure. Oh stop blushing, do you know that you do that a lot?" he grinned at me as I glared, fiercely I hoped, like a pirate.

"Well what I wanted to know, John. Was, um do you think that his, um interest in you was um increased when you, well when you dressed like a pirate? Um I mean, he always used to watch your every move, but um now he stares at you like, well as if you were dinner and um he was starving and…" Greg stammered to a stop. Greg was now blushing as much as me.

"Well Greg, I'm not saying that I have ever dressed like a pirate but if I did dress like a pirate, I guess that Sherlock might, well, find it, um not boring?" I said uncomfortably. "Um why do you ask?"

"Well John, I was wondering if it was a family trait, this interest in pirates. It seemed like Mycroft was intrigued when the pirate was dancing around on the Calypso." Greg stared out the window. I looked at the door to see blue-grey eyes peering between the slats. I waved. The eyes blinked but continued to stare. I was learning a lot about Sherlock over the past four days. He liked pirates, and he did not like sharing. He seemed to especially resent sharing me. He apparently thinks that anyone near me is likely to steal me away. (An endearing trait, yet unnerving as well)

I tried to get a handle on Greg's question. "You mean, is Mycroft interested in pirates? Well, I couldn't say really. Um. I really don't know." I thought a minute. (Wait, dancing? I was not dancing around on the Calypso). "By the way, your pirate, who ever he was, subdued a yacht full of smugglers, I hardly think he was just dancing around,." I said coldly.

"Right, not dancing around, of course not. And never mind. Lets just forget this conversation" said Greg, very red.

"Good, I need to get home. I haven't gotten much rest lately, what with all these experiments." I said rubbing my face wearily.

"God I'm sorry John. You are a saint, putting up with Sherlock and his experiments, and at all hours too, I'll bet," commiserated Greg. (Yeah, experiments at all hours and in all positions. Forcing myself to make love to that gorgeous man, kissing those soft teasing lips, touching... Yeah, I'm a saint all right.)

"Yeah, well. It's not all bad," I said, blushing of course. "And I don't mind making sacrifices in the name of science." (OK the bullshit meter just went off the chart. Fortunately Greg didn't notice.)

(OK. Why ask about Sherlock's brother? Oh No, Greg and Mycroft, Impossible, Unthinkable. No wait, wait that's a great idea. Greg's been lonely since his divorce. Mycroft really needs a hobby besides spying on Sherlock and me. Yes, a fantastic idea. The Pirate who conquers the British Government, a sequel to the Excellent Pirate Caper.)

"Look Greg, if you think you wanted to, um dress like a pirate, um for some reason, we could go shopping tomorrow. I promised to help Sherlock with an experiment this afternoon, and you can see he's eager to go. So tomorrow, we could look for a suitable shirt and a hat. And I can loan you some music, really rousing music,' (Arousing is more like it.)

I giggled at the thought of Greg and I shopping, for pirate clothes, to seduce Mycroft Holmes. I glanced at the grey eyes glaring at me. I could use another silk shirt and a new pirate hat anyway. It was time to go, my flat mates eyes were about to melt the glass. "I'll meet you here tomorrow Greg, say at 17:00 hours." He nodded, still red. I rose to rejoin the world's only consulting pirate, I mean detective.

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had invited me for dinner. It was five nights after the Pirate Incident. I admit I was intrigued. I brought a bottle of wine and a cake for dessert. He lived in a two bedroom flat since his divorce. I rang and walked up the steps. Gregory was standing in the doorway."Hello, Mycroft, he said, "I'm glad you could come."

As I entered the flat I could see that Gregory was wearing a loose red silk shirt, with a red sash tied around his waist. He looked very like a buccaneer. (Well, Gregory can carry it off; he has a fine figure.)

I heard familiar music in the background, the soundtrack of Pirates of the Caribbean. (My goodness.) I smiled slowly. (Of course I like pirates, it's a family trait. Tonight promises to be very intriguing indeed.) I smiled as the Detective Inspector led me into his pirate lair. Oh yes, clearly, he's a pirate too.

**A/N **Just a reminder that this was my first fanfic and would appreciate reviews and critiques. Please let me know if the shifts in POV were confusing. Love to any who read this and especially to those who review! ; )


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